


Take command

by stormthedarkcity



Series: The Pearl [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, First Time Domming, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: “I too happen to quite like it when my partners, as you say, take command. Is that so hard to believe?”
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Series: The Pearl [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534775
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	Take command

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was lovingly nicknamed “Baby Dom” while it was in the making... 😌💕 Thought you should know.

It’s a word, a single word, but it completely throws Alistair out of the conversation. He can’t even remember what they were talking about, that one evening, when Zevran bats his eyelashes up at him and asks, “is that an order, _ser_?”

 _Ser_.

Alistair has definitely used that title for Zevran before, first as a joke, and then because he liked how it made Zevran smirk and take charge of him when he did.

Alistair ducks his head when he hears it used for _him_ that day. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbles.

“Make fun of you?” There’s confusion in Zevran’s voice. Zevran doesn’t _fake_ confusion, and it’s that fact that makes Alistair look back up at him.

“You know I like it when you– when you– _take command_.”

“Ah, I see. Well.” Zevran’s eyes search him, and he has one of his more secret smiles. “I was not mocking you, Alistair. I just felt like using that name. Besides, I too happen to quite like it when my partners, as you say, _take command_.”

Alistair blinks.

_Is he…?_

No, Zevran’s face is smooth, free from any humour. Alistair scrunches up his nose, and he still asks for good measure, “Do you really like it?”

Zevran laughs. “Is that truly so hard to believe? You are quite inclined toward it yourself, after all.”

“Yeah, but… This is how I always am. I just prefer to follow. I’m sure people can just tell that just by _looking_ at me.” He winces at the idea. “But you’re so… you’re so…” he gestures at Zevran. “You’re so _smooth_ , all the time! You’re so in control!”

Zevran laughs, bowing his head. “Why thank you. It makes it all the more fun for people to make me submit to their will, then, no?”

Alistair swallows. There’s something new, in Zevran’s eyes. A determined sort of calm that has settled in him at some point while he stood there, talking about following orders.

He might be a little turned on, too. Alistair can’t say that part leaves him indifferent.

“I’d like to–” He stops himself. He doesn’t want to make empty promises. “I’d like to do that for you,” he finally breathes. “Someday.”

Zevran’s eyebrows shoot up, and then his face quickly settles into amused satisfaction.

And that determined calm hasn’t left his eyes.

* * *

Although they don’t mention that conversation for the few months that follow, it still lingers in Alistair’s mind, popping up when they’re talking, or sometimes when they’re fucking – especially when Zevran’s voice drops low and his words and body guide him, trap him where he belongs, where he was always meant to be. Alistair wonders what it’s like to be on the other side of this. He pictures himself saying these things Zevran is saying, praising and threatening in the same breath, but it doesn’t feel right. He pictures himself digging his short fingernails in Zevran’s hips, hard, just like Alistair likes, but all it makes him feel are uncomfortable goosebumps, and the fear of hurting Zevran. Of _really_ hurting him. And then his thoughts spiral into visions of Zevran looking at him with unwanted bruises on his body and betrayal in his eyes, and Alistair has to tear himself away from his daydreams before they go further.

“I couldn’t hurt you,” he blurts out one evening, as he’s drying some dishes while Zevran is sitting on his sofa browsing on his phone. “If we did this– if I… took command. I don’t think I could hurt you.”

Zevran puts his phone down as he settles with his legs crossed, and it looks like it takes him a moment to bring his mind up to the right gear. He inclines his head and smiles slyly.

“There are a great many things I enjoy in submitting to someone, a number of which do not involve them _hurting_ me.”

Alistair breathes out in relief. He puts the last plate away but keeps the towel in his hands, twisting it mindlessly.

“Or, well, not directly,” Zevran adds after some reflection.

Alistair sits in the armchair facing him, smoothing out the towel before twisting it again. “What does that mean?”

“Well.” Zevran waves a hand in the air. “Say I am forbidden from coming, for example. It would not hurt as such, it would not damage my body, even on the short term. But it would definitely be…” he stops for a beat, swallows, and crosses his legs closer. “Terribly uncomfortable.”

Alistair doesn’t miss how short Zevran’s breath is when he says it; nor does he miss the clenching of his thighs.

Experience has taught Alistair it isn’t difficult to turn Zevran on. But it’s also taught him that Zevran hides his eagerness well. He doesn’t blush as easily as Alistair, he controls his breathing better, and his hands rarely shake like Alistair’s do. In fact, the only way he can usually tell that Zevran is into something is by watching his pupils closely, or feeling his pulse.

But not here. Here, although Zevran is merely casually speaking about being forbidden from coming, blood floods to his cheeks as he squirms.

It’s such a slight movement. Just the smallest shifting of his posture, his knee lowering as his heel presses against his groin.

Zevran doesn’t even seem to realise what he’s doing. Alistair’s breath trembles. He feels weak just looking at him.

“You’re into that. You’re really into that.”

“Pardon?”

Alistair licks his lips. “Being… forbidden from coming.”

Zevran smiles indulgently, but there’s something tense about his posture. “It was only an example.”

“I don’t think it was _only_ an example. You’re all…” he gestures at him “…bothered.”

Zevran laughs softly and tips his head in admission. “I am quite partial to this specific sort of activity, yes.”

Alistair feels his heart beating slow, and heavy, and determined in his chest.

“Would you like me to do that for you? To forbid you. From coming.”

Zevran looks at him thoughtfully and frowns. Alistair feels much like how he does when he’s missed a step in the staircase, and his gut plummets.

“Unless you think I can’t do that!” He blurts out. “You– well, you told me this sort of things need skill and care and–”

“No,” Zevran cuts in a low voice, “as a matter of fact, I suppose it is quite a good place to start.”

Alistair feels dizzy with the implications of that ‘start’.

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you truly wish to do this, we should still use a safeword, but I do not think it should be too complicated on your side of things. We do not want to make this stressful for you.”

“I’m always stressed, though,” Alistair mutters.

“Poor phrasing, my apologies. I merely mean that _you_ should feel like I am safe, if you are to make _me_ feel safe. You should trust _yourself_ , trust your own judgement as well as your partner’s ability to safeword, in order to make them trust you in turn.”

Alistair groans. “This seems so complicated. I want to do this for you, I want to make you feel good—” he powers through the blush “—but I don’t want to do it wrong!”

Zevran frowns. “I would never ask you to do anything you are not comfortable with, no matter how much they appeal to me, you do know that, yes?”

“I know.”

“Very well then.” Zevran smiles as he stand. He makes his way to him, lowers himself, and cups his cheek with a warm palm. “Then, if we are to do this, I believe orgasm control to be a good starting point. You do not even have to touch me, if you prefer. You may use your words as your only tool if it makes you feel more like I am safe.”

“I’m scared I won’t know what to say,” Alistair confesses. He dislikes how childish he sounds.

Zevran sits daintily on the arm of Alistair’s chair. “It will come to you, trust me. And I will give you hints, should you run out of ideas.” His thumb caresses Alistair’s cheek, and then his hand drops back to his side. “I do have one request, however.”

“Anything.”

As Zevran smiles, his canines seem more prominent than usual.

“Do not be too kind to me.”

“Oh.” Alistair feels a little weak.

“Make me beg a little, yes?”

“Alright.” Alistair’s voice breaks, but he clears his throat and squares his shoulder. Now is not the time to show weakness.

Zevran looks at him expectantly.

“Oh,” Alistair says. “Oh, are we doing this _now_?”

“If you wish.”

Alistair pushes Zevran’s hair back, and lets his hand linger at the back of his skull.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

The smile Zevran gives him in answer is nothing short of wicked. Alistair swallows.

“How do we do this?”

“Well, let us see. If you are not to touch me, but I am still to go at this for a long time, it might be best to find some nice accessories for me, no?”

Alistair nods.

“Any particular idea?” Zevran coaxes.

“Oh, I…” Alistair clears his throat. “I suppose… Maybe… Maybe something that vibrates?”

Zevran’s smile is so proud and excited that Alistair feels a little like his heart is going to burst with all the feelings it’s containing.

“Come with me. Let us look through my collection, hmm?”

Zevran holds his hand out, and Alistair takes it and follows him to his bedroom. The box containing (part of) Zevran’s toys is dragged from his wardrobe and onto the bed; they sit around it, and pull out every toy that vibrates and scatter them between them.

“I didn’t realise you had so many,” Alistair comments, rolling a black one under his palm. He knows a lot of these, but seeing them actually laid out is quite impressive.

“Ah, one would have to be a fool not to take advantage of the employee discount.” Zevran winks.

After some more discussion and even more blushing on Alistair’s part, they settle on a small purple vibrator made to sit right into someone and press onto their G spot. Zevran digs through the box and emerges with an object of the same colour that fits into his palm.

“Wireless remote,” he explains, tossing it to Alistair.

Alistair catches it. Zevran activates a toggle at the base of the toy he’s holding; Alistair does the same on the remote, and he sucks in a breath when the toy begins slowly vibrating in Zevran’s palm. Zevran smirks at him, hunger in his eyes.

“How about you test my self-control, hmm?” he murmurs.

“What do you have in mind?”

Zevran wags a finger at him. “Ah-ah. What do _you_ have in mind, Alistair?”

“Oh, right. Well, I— I guess… You could wear this while we… while we do something else? And you’re— you’re not allowed to… You’re not allowed to come?”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” Zevran purrs. “What will we do?”

Alistair looks around himself in desperate search of inspiration. He does quite like the idea of kissing his boyfriend while he’s got such a toy inside of him, but he’s also fairly certain that he won’t be able to focus on his task to take charge if he’s got Zevran’s lips anywhere near his own.

So he needs to find a task to keep them busy that has nothing to do with any sort of fooling around.

“We could watch a movie,” he says, and then cringes as soon as it’s out of his mouth. “Forget what I just said, this is dumb.”

But Zevran doesn't look like he’s heard a dumb idea at all; his smile curls in delight as he rocks forward and captures Alistair’s lips.

“That sounds great,” he says against his skin. “Just long enough to be a challenge, just distracting enough to give me a chance to win. Pick a good one, yes?”

Zevran then disappears into the bathroom to put the toy in place, so Alistair heads back to the living room and turns on the TV to browse through the movies they could watch. He leaves action movies behind, browses a few comedies, and finally settles on a light-looking rom-com which he prays — for both their sanity — doesn’t feature too much sexual tension.

Zevran appears in the doorway right when he’s chosen the movie. He’s wearing the same trousers, burgundy and made from a soft fabric, but he’s gotten rid of the jumper he was wearing over his shirt. His smile is relaxed, but his posture is a little tense as he walks to the sofa.

“Have you decided on a movie, _Ser_?” he asks as he stops by the armchair, with a hip cocked out.

Alistair would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how that name makes him feel. “I have,” he says. He slowly puts the TV remote down, incapable to stop looking at his boyfriend, and picks up the other one. Zevran follows it with hungry eyes. He licks his lips.

Alistair turns the remote into his palm, again and again, revelling in the way Zevran squirms at the sight. He finally settles it in his fingers. He circles the power button, more idle than really trying to tease, although it seems to have the same effect on Zevran.

He presses on the button.

Zevran inhales sharply as his torso leans forward and his eyes flutter shut.

“This, ah, this might prove a little more difficult than I thought it would.”

“Good.”

Alistair surprises himself with how sure and steady his voice sounds. There’s a threat to it, too, and Zevran’s eyes glint as he smiles.

“Come here,” Alistair instructs, pointing at the space next to him on the sofa. “You know the rules. You’re not allowed to come before the movie ends.”

Zevran bats his eyelashes at him as he settles in the sofa. “Do the credits count as part of the movie, _Ser_?”

Alistair swallows. He takes in the way Zevran’s hands are already twitching on his lap, and he suddenly can’t figure out if he’ll even be able to handle the whole movie _without_ the credits. He does his best to keep his gaze steady as he hesitate, and finally says: “ask me again when we get there.”

“Understood.”

Praying to the Maker that he’ll be able to keep handling things alright until the end of this challenge they’re putting themselves through, Alistair hits play.

Just a few minutes into the film, Zevran abandons his sitting position in favour of laying down and resting his head on Alistair’s lap, who accepts him in silence; he doesn’t see the harm in it.

That is, until Zevran begin squirming against him.

They’re small movements, in the beginning, just shifting to get himself more comfortable. And then he’s turning away from the TV and, before Alistair can react, Zevran is opening his mouth toward his groin and mouthing clumsily at his cock through the thin fabric.

Alistair swallows back a yelp — that wouldn’t be very commanding, would it — and grips Zevran’s hair firmly. Zevran laughs like a child caught trying to eat dessert before being allowed to.

“Don’t do that,” Alistair admonishes.

 _Don’t do that, because seeing you so needy and bratty in my lap is already difficult enough on my willpower without adding your mouth on my cock_ , he doesn’t say. He knows Zevran is trying to get him to break his own rule; it’s obvious in the mischievous light in his eye.

“Don’t make me use the remote.”

Zevran pouts up at him, but then he grins and turns to the screen again, bringing his knees against his chest.

Half-way through the movie, Zevran starts trembling in Alistair’s lap. He’s breathing hard and fast, sweat on his forehead, biting down on a knuckle to muffle his pants. Alistair gently pushes Zevran’s hair away from his face, and he marvels at the way he looks up at him, pupils blown wide and face scrunched up with the effort to control himself.

“Still good?” Alistair murmurs.

“Oh,” Zevran says, voice wavering at the edges, “this was an evil, evil idea. But my colour is still green, if that is your question.”

“It was. Thanks, Zev.”

Zevran huffs in answer, and returns to his curled-up, trembling position.

It isn’t long before he can’t hold his noises in any longer. He lurches forward, gripping Alistair’s knee so hard it stings, and cries out brokenly.

“The movie’s almost done.” Alistair combs his hair with a reassuring hand, and Zevran laughs a little deliriously as he buries his face against his thigh. He’s not trying anything more, this time, so Alistair lets him, even though the feeling of his ragged, struggling breathing against his trousers isn’t helping _him_ be patient in the slightest. Zevran wraps his arms around his own chest, and then over Alistair’s thighs, and then he turns back around and grips Alistair’s hands urgently. His eyes are pleading, but he isn’t safewording, so Alistair just lets him hold his hands, squeeze them periodically, arms trembling.

He whines. He moans, protests, groans, head thrashing about, legs curling up and uncurling. No clever words now, no ruse to get Alistair to change his mind, just pure need in every twitch of his limbs. Alistair soothes him with some gentle words, he isn’t even sure which, and then he finds himself with his boyfriend wrapped close around his abdomen, mumbling into his ribs.

The final words of the movie are spoken not long after that, and Zevran jumps, before rolling onto his back with his head still in his lap, looking up at him expectantly. Alistair licks his lips. He’s had the whole movie to think about his next move, but saying it feels a little strange still. He wants it to say it in one sentence, without stuttering or hesitating, so he breathes in slowly before saying,

“I want you to bring yourself close as many times as you can before the end of the credits, okay?”

Zevran mumbles something in answer.

“What’s that?”

“I’m already close, _pendejo_ ,” he repeats, and Alistair laughs, although it sounds choked up even to himself.

“Yeah, but now you have to ask me before coming.”

Zevran whines in protest, but there’s no heat to it.

“I’m going to turn the vibration down,” Alistair says as he grabs the remote and hits the minus button a few times.

Zevran exhales sharply. “You mean you could have chosen a lower setting _this entire time_?” he grumbles.

“You did ask me not to be too kind, remember?”

“Ugh. I have the most terrible of ideas.”

“I think your ideas are rather wonderful, actually.” Alistair can’t help but smile at him. “Now hurry, I’m not seeing you doing what I asked, and the credits are rolling!”

“Alas, you have seen through my devious plans to distract you with my clever banter. Lucky for me, my clever banter is not my only asset.”

And with that, he rolls around and surrounds the shape of Alistair’s cock with his warm mouth.

Alistair yelps as he lurches forward. “If you’re going to do this,” he growls, “you’d better do what I asked at the same time.”

“Ye of little faith,” Zevran purrs, and when Alistair looks, he finds Zevran dutifully jerking himself off. His trousers are unlaced, shoved down just a little, revealing more of his hip tattoos than usual, and his arm disappears behind the waistband at the wrist. His movements are shaky and hurried, but Alistair can’t quite register them because there’s also a burning breath running along his cock — cock that has been demanding attention for the better part of the last two hours.

The fabric is not quite thin enough to allow for real sensation, so it’s more visuals and imagination than actual feeling, but it’s enough to make him tremble and Zevran chuckles. His chuckles transforms into a strangled noise half-way through, however, as he throws his head back and pants, “May I come?”

Alistair takes a second to gather his thoughts, making use of the small window of time where there isn’t a mouth pressed onto his cock.

“No,” he says, and he hopes he sounds more authoritative than he feels.

Zevran whines but doesn’t dispute. He squeezes his jaw tight, staring at the ceiling with a pained grimace on his face.

“Again. As many times as you can.”

Zevran complies. The hand in his trousers begin moving again, slowly at first, and then picking up urgency quickly. His breathing quickens as well, until it hitches and stops entirely.

“May I come?”

There’s a layer of sweat on his forehead.

“No,” Alistair answers.

Zevran groans, biting down hard on his own bottom lip and holding it for a few seconds, so tightly Alistair fears he might make himself bleed. He begins jerking himself off again.

The credits seem to take forever. Alistair loses count of Zevran’s teeterings on the edge after the fourth time he asks for the right to get himself off and is denied. He’s not even trying to get at Alistair’s cock any longer, but the sheer sight of him writhing in his lap is more than enough to produce the same effect. Alistair feels overheated in his shirt and jeans. He feels a little like he’s going to pass out. In the most wonderful of ways.

Zevran’s face scrunches up as he’s denied once more.

“I cannot—” he pants, “It’s too—” He fists the front of Alistair’s shirt and holds it so tightly his knuckles go white in his trembling grip.

“Colour, Zevran?”

Zevran exhales a slow, full breath, and inhales shakily again. “Green,” he says after a beat, nodding to himself. “I want to keep going.”

“We’re getting to the end of the credits, Zev. You’re almost there. You’re doing well.”

Zevran whines his approval as he gets back to work. He’s denied once more, and then the credits end, and his movements get truly desperate. There’s pain in his expression, but his pupils are blown wide when he opens his eyes and looks up at Alistair.

“May I come?” he croaks.

“Yes.”

Zevran flicks his wrists again, once, twice, and then he curls into a ball against Alistair’s stomach as his whole body spasms. For a second he doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t breathe at all, and then a cry rises from his lips, deep and broken, and it’s unlike any noise Alistair has heard him make.

His form slowly unfurls in Alistair's lap after a while, but he doesn’t move any further. His breath is still short and shaky.

“Please… Please turn it off,” he begs.

“Shit, sorry.”

Alistair had completely forgotten about the vibrator. He scrambles to find the remote, and turns it off completely. Zevran sags against him.

Even though he’s not directly putting pressure on Alistair’s cock any longer, the push of it against his own jeans is too much; Alistair unbuttons his trousers and arranges himself to alleviate some of it. When he looks back at Zevran, he finds two expectant eyes.

They flick to what’s visible of Alistair’s underwears, and then back to his face. He’s awaiting instructions. Alistair swallows.

“Make me come,” he orders.

Zevran doesn’t move. _Not precise enough._

“On your knees. Use your mouth.”

At that, Zevran scrambles off the sofa, his own trousers still hanging low on his hips, and he sits on his heels between Alistair’s spread legs. He opens his mouth. Alistair hasn’t even freed his cock, and his mouth is already open. And what a sight he is.

Zevran’s hair is messy, tangled by all the thrashing he’s been doing, his eyes are glossed over and his right arm hangs by his side, exhausted. But the rest of his posture is impeccable. His back is held straight and his head high as he waits patiently to be able to fulfil the task he’s been assigned.

Alistair frees his cock. It’s almost painful, by now, and he groans deeply when Zevran moves forward in a flash and sinks onto it. His technique is a little less controlled than usual, but Alistair has waited for so long, and it’s no less efficient. He bobs his head up and down the shaft, barely a handful of times, and then Alistair is crying out and coming down his throat.

Zevran sits back on his heels as he licks his lips. He seems uncertain of what he should do, so Alistair pants, “it’s okay, it’s all done, you were amazing”, and he lets himself sink to the floor next to him.

Zevran melts into his chest as Alistair embraces him.

They remain like this for long minutes, half-dressed, sweat cooling on their skin as they hold onto each other, before Zevran clears his throat.

“You, my friend, are a natural,” he says. His voice is broken almost to silence.

Alistair shifts his grip, burying his face in the crook of Zevran’s neck. “Was that alright? Was it what you wanted?”

“Oh, that was _very good_ for me. The better question would be, how did _you_ like it?”

“I…”

Zevran hums in encouragement. Alistair smiles against his skin, wide and uncontrollable.

“I loved it,” he confesses just as he realises he did. “I’d be alright with doing something like that again in the future, if you want,” he murmurs, and Zevran’s body shakes in his embrace as he laughs.

“I am certain such things can be arranged.”

**Author's Note:**

> Make my day by spreading this fic on [tumblr](https://stormthedarkcity.tumblr.com/post/611767964233039872/)!
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
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